Bromley had no reading-crack in his room, but with a nail and string soon made himself one.

Standing on the platform, I could open the reading-crack and get several inches of light on my book.  I read three or four books in this way, too, making them last just as long as I could.

On the fourth day I had light in my cell.  The two windows were opened and the cell was aired.  On the light day I got more to eat, too, coffee in the morning, and soup in the evening.  On that night I had a mattress and blankets, too.

Toward the end of my two weeks I had hard luck.  The cell next to mine, on which I depended for the light to read by, was darkened.  I was right in the middle of “The Harvester.”  I tried it by the crack between my cell and that of Malvoisin, but the light was too dim and made my eyes ache.  However, after two days a light-cell prisoner was put in, and I was able to go on with my story.

Malvoisin did all he could to make my punishment endurable.  On account of his cell being lighted, he could tell, by the sunlight on the wall, what time it was, and passed it on to me, and when I couldn’t read because the cell next to mine was dark, he entertained me with the story of his adventures—­and they were many!

His last escape had been a marvellous one—­all but the end.  When outside of the grounds, on a digging party, he had entertained the guards so well, by showing them fancy steps in dancing, that they had not noticed that he was circling closer and closer to a wood.  Then, when he had made some grotesque movement, which sent the staid German guards into paroxysms of laughter, he had made a dash for the wood.  The soldiers at once surrounded the place, but Malvoisin had gone up a tree.  The guards fired through the woods, calling on him to surrender, while he sat safe and happy in one of the highest branches, watching the search for him.  The searching of the wood continued for two days, but he remained in his nest in the tree, coming down at night to get the food he had buried in the ground while on the digging party.

They gave up the search then, and he started for Switzerland.  He got a suit of painter’s clothes at one place—­overalls and smock—­by going through a window where the painters had been working, and with his knowledge of German was passing himself off for a painter, and working toward home.  But his description was in the newspapers, and a reward offered for his capture.  His brilliant black eyes and the scar on his cheek gave him away, and one of his fellow-workmen became suspicious, and for the sake of the reward notified the military.

But he said he would be sure to reach home next time!

He had a week longer punishment than we had, and so when our two weeks were up we left him there.

When I said “Good-bye” to him through the crack, and tried to tell him how much he had done for me, he laughed light-heartedly and called back, “Good-bye, old man, I’ll meet you in Paris—­if not sooner!”